She Never Blamed Him Never

She never blamed him, never—
But received him, when he came,
With a welcome kind as ever,
And she tried to look the same—
But vainly she dissembled;
For, whene’er she tried to smile,
A tear unbidden trembled
In her blue eye all the while.

She knew that she was dying,
And she dreaded not her doom;
She never thought of sighing
O’er her beauty’s blighted bloom—
She knew her cheek was altered,
And she knew her eye was dim,
But her sweet voice only faltered
When she spoke of losing him.

’Tis true that he had lured her
From the isle where she was born;
’Tis true he had inured her
To the cold world’s cruel scorn—
But yet she never blamed him
For the anguish she had known;
And tho’ she seldom named him,
Yet she thought of him alone.

She sighed when he caressed her,
For, she knew that they must part—
She spoke not when he pressed her,
To his young and panting heart.
The banners waved around her,
And she heard the bugle’s sound:
They passed—and strangers found her,
Cold and lifeless on the ground.

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